


closet space

by mellowheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Lydia Likes Girls, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowheart/pseuds/mellowheart
Summary: Lydia gathers the courage to come out to one of her best friends, Stiles Stilinski.





	closet space

            **Lydia Martin,** despite being around girls her entire life, had always thought all girls felt the same way she did. Perhaps that was a foolish thought to have in the midst of her logical mindset, but even geniuses could be ignorant of the feelings of other people; it had taken getting her first real group of friends - a pack, as Scott called it - to realize that. She was popular, and had a lot of people who liked her, but they were people she hung around so she wouldn’t look like a loner - acquaintances she took to go shopping and be around during parties.

            She had a reputation to keep up, after all. Lipstick to wear, douchebags to date, nerds to step on. Lydia couldn’t be like Scott and Stiles, who were basically invisible until Scott got bit - she couldn’t let herself be seen as ordinary. She always told herself that she couldn’t let herself be perceived as a blade of grass, because she was a goddamn field of roses; that was a thought that had stayed dormant in her brain, even though, she’s changed in more ways than one. A couple years ago, her dead body would be found floating with the fishes before she looked in Stiles’ direction. A couple years ago, she never would’ve thought she’d be stable enough in her mind to break up with Jackson (good riddance). A couple years ago, five years ago, ten years ago, she never would’ve thought she’d look in the mirror and finally admit to herself that she liked girls.

            That she was a lesbian, to be exact.

            The most difficult part of admitting it to herself was saying it out loud. If letting the words float in her head was finding out she was a banshee, speaking the words was learning to use her scream as a weapon. But then again...when had Lydia Martin ever backed down from a challenge?

            When her mom went out to buy groceries, Lydia took that as her chance. She took Prada - her dog, not her designer handbag - outside and left her with a bowl full of food, turned off every TV in the house, and finally returned to her room, locking the door for good measure. She was wearing her comfiest pajamas, yet she felt as if the fabric was scraping against her limbs on her way to the bathroom connected to her bedroom. The first thing she saw in the mirror was a face she didn’t recognize, her skin void of color and the green irises of her eyes shaded with fear. She combed her fingers through her hair, which, to her disgust was a strawberry blonde mess of tangles and split ends.

            There was disgust at the state of appearance, but surprise had not found its way to her mind and soul. How could she be? When one let them self wallow in anxiety, countless naps, and guilt at telling her mom that she was too sick to go to school, a red headed troll wearing pink flannel pajamas resulted. And, Jesus, her once long and healthy nails were bitten down to the nub!

            “Sweetheart,” the girl mumbled to herself with a snort. “You need every spa treatment available.”

            She pulled her hair back in a simple bun, tucking the stray hairs behind her ears, and clapped her hands together. “Alright, Lydia, you can do this. I mean, it’s three words. How hard could it be? If you can master AP Calculus, this should be a breeze.”

            She closed her eyes, sighing heavily. “And while you’re at it, stop referring to yourself in the third person like a fucking narcissist.”

            Lydia kept her eyes closed, letting herself sit in complete silence for once; she should consider herself lucky - there were no voices in her head telling her one of her friends were about to die or hallucinations of a younger version of Peter Hale, and Stiles wasn’t yapping in her ear about a dead body he and Scott found in the woods the other day. She concentrated on the sound of her breathing, just inhaling.....and exhaling.....

            Then she rolled her shoulders back, much more relaxed than she was before with the tension having seeped from her shoulders. Her pajamas felt like soft cloth instead of cheese graters, and her body felt like her own instead of a shell of isolation and self-hatred. For a moment, everything was simple, easier than rocket science and smoother than a slide.

            “I’m a lesbian,” Lydia said.

            And for the first time in months, the banshee’s face spread into a genuine grin, her eyes alight with delight.

*

            **The first girl** she remembered having a crush on was the only person she was friends with in the third grade; at the time, she didn’t know it was a crush, just thought her feelings were the result of a deep friendship. As one would assume, it was the most innocent affection in the world, for their adoration for each other was mutual and sweeter than peppermint. Her name was Cassandra (“Cass” for short) and she was child prodigy in the field of music; if the coils of her hair and the dark, warm color of her skin didn’t make Lydia fall harder than a sack of potatoes, the way her fingers bent every instrument she played to her will certainly did.

            Or maybe it was the bright smile always on Cass’ face, or the way she understood Lydia like no one else could. To find someone who was just as smart as her meant more to her than anything, and it was apparent to everyone from the way Lydia could never seem to unglue herself from the other girl’s side. A lot of the memories remained fuzzy no matter how hard she tried to dig them up, but the heartbreak she felt when Cassandra moved from Beacon Hills was unforgettable. They’d been best friends for four years, entering middle school together - the young girl had finally owned up to her feelings, and was about to open her heart up to her best friend about it when Cass broke the news to her.

            Cassandra kissed Lydia on her right cheek before she left the Martin household for the last time. Her younger self had been in despair for a month before she found it in herself to move on. A couple years later, Lydia stuffed the diary she used to keep close to her between two old textbooks because, well, 9 year old Lydia was quite the drama queen.

            _I love you more than novels,_  
 _I love you more than angels._

_Te quiero más que a las novelas,_   
_Te quiero más que a los ángeles._

*

            **After congratulating herself** for coming out to her bathroom mirror by squealing in the most uncool way possible for five minutes, Lydia washed her hair, the feeling of shampoo and conditioner being rubbed into her scalp improving her mood even more. Because yes, she had a lot more people to tell, but right now, she felt whole.

            The water from the shower head soaked into her hair, tiny rivulets sliding down her bare back. Rinsing her hair once more, Lydia stepped out of the shower, wrapping a light blue towel around her body; she tucked the part of the towel left hanging down the top of the cocoon she had trapped her bodice in. She was reaching for a towel to wrap her hair in when her phone, near the sink and close to a tube of pink lipstick, buzzed twice.

            “Please don’t be Stiles, please don’t be Stiles,” Lydia grumbled to herself as she neatly wrapped the towel around her head. The absolute last thing she needed was werewolf drama, or dead-body drama, or Peter Hale drama (he needed an category dedicated to him, with all the mayhem he’s brought to Beacon Hills and, most importantly, her mental state).

            She picked up the phone, pressed her thumb on the home button, and...

            It was Stiles.

            **Stiles: Lydia!!**  
 **Stiles: Lydiaaaaaa**  
 **Stiles: Lyd the lid, you alright? I didn’t see you at school today**

            Lydia rolled her eyes, slightly annoyed at how much he’d softened her since they became friends; the switch from her thinking he was nothing but an annoying flea that was constantly on her shoulder to feeling affection mixed with her annoyance was astonishing. Stiles Stilinski was like a puppy...if puppies were hyperactive, skinny twinks with mole dotted skin and a tendency to trip over their limbs. Pretty brown eyes had always been her weakness, so she couldn’t be too surprised at the development of their friendship.

            Phone in one hand, she turned the knob to stop the water from pouring down in the shower stall before drying the hand she’d used and going back into her bedroom. It wasn’t the first time he’d texted her while she was in the middle of doing something so, preparing for what could be a long story about how he’d accidentally gotten his dick stuck in a toaster or something, she sat down on the edge of her bed. The girl crossed her legs, soft and smooth after she’d shaved them prior to her shower; then she let her thumbs fly across the keyboard on her screen.

            **Lydia: first of all, if you’d called me I would’ve let out a scream so loud that your eardrums would shatter**  
 **Lydia: secondly, this better be a life or death situation because I’m in my element right now - I’m the 79th element on the periodic table, Stiles.**  
 **Stiles: first of all, hello to you too**  
 **Stiles: second of all, I can’t believe you made me do a google search just so I could find out that you’re Gold**  
 **Stiles: anyway, like I said, i was just wondering if you were okay. Are you sick?**  
 **Lydia: oh, sorry - I’m fine, just needed to take a mental health day**  
 **Stiles: bet you feel like an asshole now**  
 **Lydia: shut up**  
 **Stiles: ;)**  
 **Lydia: could you come over? I want to talk to you about something**  
 **Stiles: If this is you finally revealing your undying love for me, I’ll unfortunately have to break it to you that the feelings are not reciprocated. I’m taken by a 6’0 hunk with big arms and no offense, but you couldn’t bench press a carton of milk**  
 **Stiles: Lydia? Hello?**  
 **Stiles: if you’re doing the thing where you ignore me when I say things you don’t like, I’m gonna tell you that that’s RUDE and not the proper way to get through life**  
 **Stiles: ...are you mad at me? I’ll get you a gym membership if you’re mad about your small arms**

*  
            **When the doorbell rang** , Lydia answered the door in her softest shirt and sweatpants, her hair cascading in loose waves down her shoulders; she had come to terms with the fact that it was okay to be dressed down, although she had to restrain herself from going upstairs to change when she swung the door open. Stiles was in his trademark plaid and jeans, his fist posed in the air as if he was going to knock but wasn’t quick enough. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a smile, his fist stretching out into a long-fingered wave.

            “Hey Lydia, long time, no see,” Stiles said by way of greeting. “I mean, it’s only been a day, but-“

            Lydia stepped to the side, giving him room to enter her house. “Come in - and don’t say anything inappropriate, my mom’s in the living room.”

            “I see,” he said, looking over the top of her head to where Ms. Martin was lounging in the couch. Suddenly, the boy’s eyebrows quirked upwards, a devious look in his eye. “Is she watching Real Housewives?”

            “Stiles, no.” Lydia pointed at the staircase. “Upstairs. Now.”

            “Is that Stiles?” her Mom called out, picking up the remote control beside her and lowering the volume. Stiles apparently took that as permission to go forward into the house, closing the door behind him.

            “Hi, Ms. Martin!”

            “Hi, Stiles! How ar-“

            “Uh, Mom?” Lydia interrupted. “We’re gonna upstairs, if that’s okay. And by the way, Prada fell asleep outside after I fed her, so could you wake her up in a half hour?”

            “Yeah, no problem,” her mother said. “Stiles, be sure to let your dad know if you’re planning on staying for dinner.”

            Stiles nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am.”

            Her mother nodded, turning her head back to the television screen. As the two teenagers went upstairs, the voices from the TV got louder, returning to their previous volume. Stiles mumbled under his breath as they ascended the final steps, something about Lydia being a buzz kill.

            “My lack of supernatural hearing doesn’t negate my ability to sense the underlying emotions of your grumbling,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly, giving him a disapproving look after she flicked the light switch on the wall in front of her, which was in their plane of view as they had walked up the stairs. The hallway became awash with a yellow glow, revealing the cream colored carpeting, two doors next to Lydia’s that appeared to lead to what must’ve been the office of Ms. Martin and a room that was more vacant, the only things in view being a toybox - almost spilling with dolls - and countless boxes filled with papers.

            “So why did you invite me over?” Stiles questioned as they entered through the doorway of Lydia’s bedroom, ignoring the snarky quip she’d made a moment ago. “Hearing voices that could possibly lead us to a supernatural being that may destroy life as we know it?”

            “Hmm...,” Lydia hummed, pressing her lips together and plopping into the chair next to her desk; she picked up a pen and started twirling it around with her fingers. “Not today. Could happen tomorrow, though.”

            Stiles scoffed, sitting on the side of the bed that was facing her. She stopped twirling the pen, schooling her expression into neutrality.

            The human’s eyebrows twitched inwards. “What’s up?”

            “It’s just...” Lydia sighed, flicking her eyes to the ceiling. “...Now that I think about it, there was this piece of chicken that seemed a little suspicious-“

            Stiles’ face dropped, his body visibly sagging. “That’s not even funny.”

            A laugh bubbled from her throat, pushing its way into the air so quickly at the look of horror on Stiles’ face that Lydia had to press a hand to her chest, leaning forward with the force of it.

            He crossed his arms in front of him, putting on a frown Lydia guessed was supposed to be intimidating, but she thought he looked more like a five year old who got his animal crackers stolen. However, the sullenness didn’t last long, a slight smile slipping onto his face - Stiles could never be serious when someone was joking around with him, even if it was at his expense. How his facetious attitude had attracted the broody likes of Derek Hale was a mystery.

            She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m-“ Another giggle burst from her, tinged with nervousness this time. “I’m stalling.”

            He leaned forward, nudging her shoulder and resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes blinking at her with concern. “Well, out with it, then. Trust me, Lydia, there’s not a thing you could say that would surprise me at this point.”

            Lydia nodded. “You’re right, just...” She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it would sound ridiculous.

            Come on, it’s Stiles we’re talking to, here, she thought, and sighed, motioning a hand to the closet behind her.

            “Get in the closet, Stiles.”

            There was the of Stiles’ lips popping open, and suddenly, he was gaping at her. A mix of emotions reflected off his face, but disbelief and suspicion were the most prominent.

            He pointed at the closet, and Lydia nodded. “I...you...is this a therapy session?”

            “What?”

            “ _This_ ,” Stiles emphasized, flailing his arms in an indecipherable gesture before his accusing finger landed on Lydia. “Who set you up to this? Was it Scott? I bet it was Scott, that fu-“

            Instead of responding, Lydia, like every time Stiles said something that made him sound like he’d just stepped out of Eichen House, rolled her eyes. Then she placed her hands on her knees, standing up and sliding open the door of her closet, which wasn’t a walk-in by any means, but Lydia had made space in the middle for both of them to sit earlier. She rubbed at the spot above her brow as she heard Stiles cease in his rambling, the creak of the bed as he stood up the only clue that he’d decided to follow through.

            The boy had always been notorious for his curiosity, and luckily (or not luckily, depending on what direction this dramatic Gay Reveal™️ went in), it worked to her advantage this time. So when they sat in the middle of the closet together, facing each other with the mountains that composed Lydia’s shoes collection resting against their backs; Lydia slid the closet door closed, enveloping the two in darkness, the sliver of light from Lydia’s bedroom the only thing keeping from being pitch black.

            Lydia had to do this quickly, before her mother found them in their together started jumping to conclusions; neither of them wanted Ms. Martin to walk to conclusions, let alone jump.

            “So, uh,” Stiles whispered, clearing his throat. “Is this some kind of banshee ritual? Because I don’t know if I can handle that level of intensity - purely hanging out with you on an almost daily basis is enough banshee intensity to last me a lifetime.”

            Lydia clutched her hands in her lap, despising the anxiety that came with coming out to people. It made her feel like a different person, like the confidence that lined her name was all a sham, made her feel like her personality was made up of fake jewels and shoddy fabric. It was humiliating, and her bravado from the hours ago seemed like an imposter. Stiles had been a proud bisexual for years now, so, theoretically, it should be easier to open up...theoretically.

            Stiles, along with the rest of the pack, surely wouldn’t judge her for liking girls...theoretically. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, quite literally snapping her out of her thoughts.

            “Hello?” he said, stretching out the last syllable. “Earth to Lydia Martin, still in a clos-“

            “Stiles, I’m a lesbian,” Lydia interrupted, her heart rapidly beating against her chest.

            Surprise flashed on his face, but it was so brief that she barely caught it, because he nodded, his lips stretching to create an expression that said “well, alright.” There was not a spot of negativity in his reaction, nothing in his body language suggesting he was even slightly annoyed, or disgusted, or any of the emotions she feared receiving from her relatives. No, because instead, Stiles took her hand and smiled with so much kindness that Lydia wanted to sob with relief, because acceptance from her friends was the most important thing in the world.

            “Cool,” Stiles responded, standing up to stretch his limbs. Lydia did the same, and came out of the closet in the most literal fashion possible.

            “And Lydia? Remind me in the morning to take you out to get a coffee, my treat - you deserve it.” 


End file.
